Lucy’s mind seemed frozen. She could not comprehend what he had just said to her. Her brother, Harold, had been lost in the fire. Then who else could this man be, and why did he come to see her?
“My brother was killed years ago in a fire. Who are you really?” She was becoming agitated.
“No, truly, I am your brother.” He rolled up his left sleeve and presented her with a scar on his arm. “Do you remember this? We were playing in a tree and I fell and ripped my arm open on a branch. You had to wrap your petticoat around my arm to help staunch the bleeding.”
Lucy was filled with a rush of recognition and rushed over and threw her arms around her brother.
“Oh, my darling, brother. I was certain you were lost. How ever did you survive?”
“It is a long story, and we have a lot to relate to each other. I want to hear your story as I am certain you want to hear mine. But might I ask if I might have a bite to eat? I have been traveling from London and then around the countryside seeking to find you. I had a feeling you were still alive and was determined to find you.”
They burst into tears as they held each other and he dotted her face with kisses.
Mrs. Mead came into the dining room, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is going on in here? Are you all right Miss Lucy?”
Lucy turned to her. “Oh, Mrs. Mead, you can never guess. I have found my brother, Harold. I thought I had lost him in the fire.”
Mrs. Mead brought her apron to her face, covering her mouth with it as she cried out, “God be praised! It surely is a miracle.”
“Yes, Mrs. Mead it surely is,” Lucy said, laughing now instead of crying, and grasping her brother’s hand and pulling him to her.
She could not wait to hear his story and share hers, but first, she asked, “My brother has not eaten in a spell. Might he have some soup and a piece of bread?”
“Good heavens, child, he may have more than that. Sit ye down, and I shall bring you some roast chicken, a bowl of bean soup, a slice of bread and some of me own special apple pie. How does that sound?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Mead. It sounds like a feast to me,” Harold said.
After he was served, Harold ate with gusto and Lucy sat opposite just gazing at her brother’s face. Lucy did not speak, as she was still so filled with volatile emotion, and felt on the verge of tears if she could not settle herself.
“Brother, do you have any luggage?” she asked trying to become practical.
“I do.” He turned and pointed to a valise at the side of the room. “It is not all of my possessions, but I thought to travel light until I found you.”
“And do you have a place to stay?”
“I was thinking of taking a room in Chiseldon above the King’s Arms Pub.”
“Oh, no, that is a horrid accommodation. You must stay here. Let me speak to Stevens and see what can be arranged.”
“I should like to be close to you. If you think it would not be an inconvenience to the family, I shall accept.”
“Let me speak to George. I am certain he will welcome you with open arms.”
“And he is?” Harold asked.
“Do you not remember? He is the son of the Duke. We are good friends and I know he will agree.”
Harold stopped eating and took Lucy’s hands. “Oh, sister, you have no idea how happy I am for this moment.”
“Certainly not more happy than I am.”
Chapter 21
Right after Harold finished eating, Lucy took him by the hand and led him to George’s studio, but before entering, she knocked and entered by herself.
“Why knock, Lucy? You know that is not necessary,” George said as he faced the painting he was working on.”
“Ordinarily I would not, but this is a special occasion,” she said with a broad smile.
